


endless night

by ictus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, One Night Stands, Post-Canon, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Keith has a routine: go to a club, find a stranger, and take them home for the night. No broken promises, no strings attached, and above all, no complicated feelings.Except this time, Keith thinks he might want more than just one night.
Relationships: Matt Holt/Keith
Comments: 10
Kudos: 64
Collections: Little Black Dress Madness 2020





	endless night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Soulstoned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulstoned/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Soulstoned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulstoned/pseuds/Soulstoned) in the [lbdmadness2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/lbdmadness2020) collection. 



> Written for Soulstoned who always asks the important questions: are there gay bars in space? 
> 
> (Spoilers: Yes. Yes there are.)

The club is a dingy little thing, buried in the backstreets of the city centre. Keith hovers outside, eyeing the nondescript door sceptically. He checks and rechecks the address. Maybe the local he’d asked had been winding him up? It wouldn’t be the first time. Deciding there’s nothing for it, Keith presses a palm to the door, and pushes inside.

He’s immediately met by a wave of bass, a steady thrum that he knows as well as his own pulse. The air is thick and warm, smelling of smoke and sweat. Keith can almost taste the alcohol in the air, the sharp sting of vapours that never seem to dissipate from clubs like these.

Yeah, this is the right place.

Keith makes his way down the dim corridor, lured by the draw of the bass. The corridor descends sharply downwards, and as the wood-panelled walls give way to stone, he realises the club is actually underground. He turns a final corner, and in that instant, it’s like someone dials the volume up to eleven. He’s hit by a roar of sound, drum and synth adding to that steady bass, music so loud that it drowns out all of Keith’s thoughts. Lasers cut through the darkness like lightning bolts as strobe lights pulse in time to the music, casting bursts of brightness onto the writhing mass of bodies on the dancefloor.

It’s perfect.

Keith finds himself in front of the bar in record time. After a week of nothing but protein shakes and unidentifiable space mush, the thought of hard liquor has him weak at the knees. The menu is divided by species, and Keith scrolls through the touchpad looking for anything he even vaguely recognises. There’s no human section—there rarely is on planets this far out—but he quickly finds the Galra menu, his eyes catching on a familiar liquor.

When Keith looks up from the menu, it’s to the bartender’s heavy gaze. He’s a Ruthnian, native to this planet. His scaled skin glows blue in the dim light, but beyond that he’s mostly humanoid—muscled arms and broad chest, and every single bit Keith’s type. Except for the tail, perhaps. But Keith is open-minded.

Keith clears his throat. “Uh, hey. Can I get an erzyk and soda?”

The bartender looks him up and down, slowly and with obvious interest. “Sure,” he says with a casual tilt of his shoulder, his forked tongue darting out to scent the air. To scent Keith. Keith’s heart ratchets up a notch as bartender busies himself preparing Keith’s drink, and several seconds pass before he’s able to tear his eyes away. He surveys the crowd, his heart already thrumming in anticipation of getting out there.

A dull _thunk_ gets Keith’s attention. He swivels to see the bartender’s placed his drink on the bar, along with a tiny shot glass.

Keith frowns. “I didn’t order—”

“On the house,” the bartender says with a wink, his tongue darting out again. Keith digs around in the pocket of his (way too tight) jeans for a few GAC and drops them into the bartender’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks,” Keith says, raising the shot glass to his lips and slowly tipping it into his mouth. His first impression is the liquor’s intensely bitter, and it takes him a second to register that it’s in fact erzyk, straight-up. Keith’s never had it neat before, the human in him barely able to tolerate the taste even when it’s mixed with something else, but he manages to hold back a grimace. The bartender’s eyes linger on the line of Keith’s throat, on the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows it down.

Keith doesn’t hide his smirk as he places the empty shot glass back on the bar. He picks up the drink he actually ordered and says, “See you later.”

“Yeah, maybe you will,” comes the murmured reply, and Keith can only smile as he disappears into the crowd.

The thing is, Keith never had this as a teenager. It goes without saying that there aren’t any gay bars in the middle of the desert, and the nearest town boasted nothing more than a couple of dives and a 24 hour diner. But space is as diverse as it is infinite, and Keith never has too much trouble tracking them down when he’s on leave. It’s not even about hooking up—even though that’s a part of it too. It’s about knowing that despite the distance, despite the harsh bite of culture shock, there’s always a place for you, so long as you know where to look.

Although tonight might be about hooking up.

Already the liquor’s singing in Keith’s blood, making him bold. When Keith approaches the edge of the crowd, it seems to part as if to welcome him, bodies shifting and then enclosing around him so he’s surrounded on all sides. There are hands on his body—his shoulders, his hips, and Keith’s nerves spark with every touch. It’s hard to tell the exact makeup of the crowd; most are Ruthnian, and Keith spots a couple of Galra, but there are more than a few species that Keith doesn’t recognise.

A particularly enthusiastic Ruthnian stops him in his tracks, steadying him with both hands on his hips, and Keith presses their bodies flush as they begin a slow grind in time with the thumping base. The Ruthnian’s lips are hot on Keith’s neck, and Keith responds instinctively, tilting his head back and arching against him. The stranger’s hand travels lower down Keith’s body, brushing against the front of his jeans in a way that leaves Keith breathless. The erzyk has made Keith’s world softer around the edges, has made every touch feel like tiny sparks under his skin. Keith takes another sip as the Ruthnian pulls their bodies closer, and Keith practically melts against him, his body gone loose with the liquor.

Keith is just about to tilt his head back for a kiss when he sees it—a glimpse of gold out of the corner of his eye. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, illuminated by the flash of the strobe for only a split-second. Keith’s left staring at that spot, even as the Ruthnian’s hands roam his body.

“Be right back,” Keith shouts over the music, not knowing if he’s been heard. He presses a quick kiss to the Ruthnian’s jaw before slipping out of his grasp, and when the Ruthnian calls out after him, he doesn’t look back.

Ruthnians are at least a head taller than humans, and Keith has some difficulty making his way through the crowd. The man—if it even was a man and not just a trick of the light—is much shorter than any of them, and is impossible to spot no matter now much Keith tries.

Finally, Keith pushes past a particularly handsy Puigian, when he sees it—

A human.

He’s shorter than anyone else here, slimmer too. As he dances, Keith catches the silhouette of his face in profile, and there’s no mistaking him. This close, Keith can see that his hair is not golden, but a dirty blonde, tied back into a messy ponytail that Keith finds incomparably sexy. He’s dressed similarly to Keith, tight jeans and a V-neck tee that dips low, and Keith’s hands itch to get under that shirt, to feel that body pressed against his own.

Before he can think twice, Keith reaches out a hand to the stranger’s shoulder. The man steps back into Keith, still moving in time to the music, and Keith lets his hand drop a little lower until it’s resting on the jut of his hip. There’s a little sliver of skin between the man’s shirt and his jeans, and Keith lets his touch trail along the edge of it, getting his hand underneath the fabric to splay over his stomach.

The man’s hand quickly finds Keith’s, holding it to his bare skin as they grind in time to the music—and they really _are_ grinding. There’s no finesse to it, just the frantic press of their bodies through far too many layers of fabric.

The man turns his head for a kiss, his features obscured by the rapid pulse of the strobe lights, and Keith meets him halfway without any hesitation. It’s been so long since Keith has kissed a human, he’s almost unprepared for the heat of the stranger’s mouth, the slick glide of his tongue. Keith is already getting hard in his too-tight jeans, and the stranger responds to that, snaking a hand between their bodies. Keith gasps against the stranger’s mouth when he feels for Keith’s erection, his hand sure and confident as he rubs over the bulge in Keith’s pants.

The song has changed, the beat much slower now, and they’ve given up all pretence of dancing in favour of feeling each other up. Growing bolder, Keith lets his hand drop a little lower, first running up the inside of the stranger’s thigh until he reaches the inseam of his jeans. The stranger jolts as Keith’s hand closes over his erection, but Keith holds him in place, mouthing along the side of his neck even as the stranger moans and shudders under his touch.

“Here,” Keith says into the stranger’s ear, offering him his drink. The stranger takes it from him, raising it to his mouth, and in that singular moment, a laser cuts through the darkness, illuminating his features, and Keith realises—

_“Matt!?”_

There really is no mistaking him. Brown eyes, pointed chin, and the scar just below his eye. Through the blur of lights, Keith sees Matt’s mouth form the word _Keith_ , his brow drawn in confusion. For a long moment they stare at each other in the middle of the dancefloor, their bodies still pressed together.

Keith thinks of a thousand things he could say. Thinks of the obvious, ‘ _What are you doing here?’_ and the slightly less obvious, ‘ _I didn’t know you were gay.’_ He briefly entertains a, ‘ _So, do you come here often?’_

But instead what comes out of his mouth is—

“My bike’s parked outside.”

The air outside is cold and sharp, sending a shock through Keith’s entire body. On Ruthnia, one day is roughly equivalent to 80 earth hours, and they’re approaching the middle of the night which has sent the temperature plummeting.

It’s probably for the best, Keith thinks, handing his helmet to Matt. The chilly air is helping him sober up a little, and while Keith has piloted through actual asteroid fields in far worse conditions than this, he’d prefer to make it back to his place in one piece.

Matt, on the other hand, had downed the rest of Keith’s drink the very second Keith had suggested leaving. Keith’s impressed he managed to stomach it, but the challenge in Matt’s eyes told Keith he was not to be deterred. Now Matt is wide-eyed and flushed, his body loose and relaxed. He drapes himself over Keith’s back unselfconsciously as he clambers onto the back of the bike, his arms tight around Keith’s waist. Even through two layers of fabric, Matt’s body is hot and so, so appealing. It’s almost tempting not to wait, to just back him against the wall of the club and blow him right here in this filthy alley.

But Matt isn’t some anonymous fuck on a faraway planet, and Keith intends to make this good for him.

“Ready?”

Matt’s arms tighten around Keith. “Yeah.”

“Hold on,” Keith says, and revs the engine into gear.

*

It’s approaching midnight by the time they make it back to Keith’s hotel.

“Wow,” Matt says the second they make it through the door. “And I thought my digs were rough.”

Keith closes the door behind them, methodically locking the deadbolts. Matt’s eyes catch on the flaking paint and the old furniture, then linger on the dingy bathroom with its chipped tiles and leaking faucets. Okay, so maybe _hotel_ is slightly too generous a word for this place. The fact is, Keith is here on a Blade mission, and it’s a small mercy that he’s been provided with any lodging at all.

“Yeah, well. It beats sleeping in a ship.”

“Been there,” Matt says with a nod.

Keith tries not to fidget as Matt shucks off his jacket, throwing it carelessly over a nearby chair. Matt still looks flushed, but his eyes are sharp where they settle on Keith, considering. Keith’s mind reels as he struggles to come up with something to say, but his voice has become stuck in his throat. He swallows hard and tries not to think about the double bed on the other side of the room, and how badly he wants to throw Matt onto it.

“So uh—” Keith clears his throat. “So what’s Pidge been up to these days?”

Matt’s smile is wry. “Do you really want to talk about my sister right now?”

Keith lets out a puff of laughter. “No,” he says, taking a step towards Matt. Matt’s t-shirt is soft and worn under Keith’s hands, and Matt relaxes into his touch, drawing him closer until there’s nothing but a hair’s breadth between them. “I really don’t.”

Matt kisses him like he did in the club, messy and desperate and like he’s starved for it. Matt shoves Keith onto the bed and Keith feigns compliance, yielding easily as Matt straddles him. Keith holds their position for a beat, just long enough for Matt to tug his t-shirt over his head, before flipping them both over and pressing Matt into the mattress.

Matt lets out a surprised gasp as Keith pins his wrists above his head, his whole body writhing underneath Keith’s as he tries to regain the upper hand. Matt’s body feels so good underneath Keith’s, and when their hips align Keith has to bite back a groan at the sudden friction.

“Cheater,” Matt says, getting a knee between Keith’s legs. Keith shudders, a stuttered breath escaping his lips as Matt presses harder against his erection.

“Hardly,” Keith breathes, tugging Matt’s lower lip between his teeth and biting down. “You’re just a sore loser.”

Matt smirks. “Who says I’ve lost?”

Matt gets a hand down Keith’s pants a second later, and Keith can only buck into his touch, his mind gone dizzy with pleasure, and his witty comeback dying on his lips.

They end up with Matt sprawled out over the edge of the bed, his jeans tangled around his ankles, and Keith kneeling on the floor between his legs.

Matt’s cock is straining against his boxers and Keith doesn’t waste a second; he tugs them down and wraps a hand around Matt’s cock, squeezing the base just to hear Matt’s breath hitch. Matt seems almost frozen in place, every one of his muscles locked up as if he’s afraid moving will shatter the moment. But then Keith ducks down to press a series of kisses to his shaft, the skin impossibly soft under his lips, and Matt all but melts, sagging onto the bed even as one of his hands buries itself in Keith’s hair. From there it’s a slow glide up to the tip of Matt’s cock, and Keith is sure to lock eyes with Matt before taking the head into his mouth and running his tongue around the crown with as much finesse as he can muster.

Keith has always loved this. Has always loved the power that comes from taking someone in his mouth, the power to have them come undone beneath his hands and lips. And he’s _good_ at it too. Matt, for the most part, manages to maintain control of himself. But as soon as Keith takes him all the way down to the base, the final thread of his restraint snaps, and he starts rocking into Keith’s mouth, unconscious movements of his hips that he can’t seem to stop. Keith stills his own movements, resting his hands on Matt’s thighs and relaxing his throat, and the message couldn’t be clearer if he’d spoken the words out loud: _I want you to fuck my face_.

Matt groans, staring down at Keith like he can’t quite believe it. But his disbelief is short-lived, and a second later his grip is tightening in Keith’s hair, holding him steady as he thrusts into Keith’s mouth. Keith lets himself be used, even as Matt forces himself deeper down Keith’s throat, his movements becoming erratic as he chases his own release. 

Matt shouts when he comes, something unintelligible that Keith can’t discern. Blood is pounding in Keith’s ears, drowning out everything else. And when Keith finally takes his first deep breath, his head clears enough to realise that when Matt came, the sound he made was in the shape of Keith’s name.

With Matt relaxed and boneless after his orgasm, he’s only too eager to let Keith work him open.

“I didn’t realise you were—”

Matt cuts himself off with a gasp as Keith adds a second finger, pressing deeper inside him.

“—gay,” Matt adds eventually. “But you’ve obviously done this before.”

Matt’s so tight around Keith’s fingers, warm and slick, and clenching around them in a way that’s really fucking promising. Earlier, Matt had drawn his knees up to his chest and said, _I haven’t done this in a while,_ almost like an apology, almost as if it didn’t make Keith hard to know that he was the first person to touch Matt like this in a long time.

“There were plenty of rumours going around the Garrison,” Keith says eventually, withdrawing his fingers to add more lube. “And thank you,” he adds, acknowledging the implicit compliment.

“Well I never paid attention to rumours,” Matt says. Keith smears more lube around his hole, and Matt’s eyes slide shut at the simple touch, his lips parted in a soundless gasp. When Keith pushes in again, he’s sure to zero in on Matt’s prostate, because if Matt is cognisant enough to make pillow talk _during_ sex, then Keith’s obviously not trying hard enough.

When it comes down to it, fucking Matt is unlike anything Keith had imagined.

Matt is nothing like the speccy dork Keith remembers from the Garrison, over-eager and agonisingly earnest. No, Matt is confident and cocky and _sexy_. He’s filled out since they were teenagers, but like Keith he’s all lithe muscle, compact and lean. Matt is so responsive, attuned to Keith’s every touch, his muscles jumping when Keith runs his hands over his skin, and his dick already filling out again where it’s lying against his stomach.

When Keith lines up, time almost seems to stop, both of them holding their breath as Keith’s cock catches on Matt’s rim. Matt lets out a shaky breath, more of moan than anything else, and relaxes enough for Keith to press in, inch by inch. They both groan when Keith bottoms out, and Matt’s barely adjusted to the stretch before he’s canting his hips, urging Keith to move.

Keith does—slowly at first, and then harder when Matt hooks a leg around his waist and urges him deeper. Keith fucks him with desperate snaps of his hips, dizzy with the feeling of Matt tightening around him, as Matt slowly falls apart, piece by piece.

By the time Keith’s close, Matt is flushed and panting open-mouthed, his body arching into every press of Keith’s hips. He’s hard and leaking on his own stomach, and when Keith gets a hand around him, he only has to stroke once, twice, three times, before Matt comes with a shout, tightening around Keith’s cock and pushing Keith over the edge with him.

*

Afterwards, they spend a long time tangled together. Not speaking, just breathing.

Keith’s not exactly a spooner, is usually too busy heading for the door for any sort of post-coital cuddling. But when Matt buries his face in the crook of Keith’s neck, it’s instinctive to wrap an arm around him, to hold him close until their breathing evens out.

As some of the post-orgasm haze clears from Keith’s mind, the surrealness of the situation slowly sinks in.

Keith has just had sex with Matt. Matt _Holt_. Matt Holt, the nerdy guy who was always just sort of _there_. Matt Holt, the guy who was always messaging Shiro to discuss their mission, who was always hanging around Shiro’s quarters, even when Shiro had promised it would just be the two of them.

Keith wasn’t jealous of Matt, not exactly. But it was impossible not to resent him. Shiro was the only friend Keith had ever had at the Garrison, the first person to believe in him since his dad died. And even though it had never been his intention, Matt was always just another force in Keith’s life that was pulling Shiro away from him.

“What are you thinking about?” Matt murmurs, apropos of nothing.

Keith doesn’t jolt, but his breath does catch for a second. Matt presses a kiss to Keith’s throat, and Keith’s almost certain Matt can feel the way Keith’s pulse has picked up.

“I’m thinking,” Keith says, and kisses Matt in an attempt to stall. “I’m thinking that I could really go for a burger right now.”

There’s an all-night diner a short walk from Keith’s place. It’s deserted at this hour, which isn’t surprising considering they’re out in the dead of the night. If there’s one thing Keith has learned, it’s that despite the vastness of space and the infinite diversity of all the cultures that inhabit it, there seems to be one universal constant:

Burgers.

Although there are variations, the tradition of putting a slab of meat between two pieces carbohydrate-derived bread-like foodstuff seems to be the singular unifying feature across cultures. Keith isn’t really sure what he ends up ordering, but when their burgers arrive, Keith is pleased to see that the meat mostly resembles beef although it’s distinctly gamier, and the bread component is similar to steamed lotus leaf buns, reminding him of gua bao. Overall, it ranks solidly in the top ten percent of ambiguous space food Keith has sampled in his travels. Maybe even top five.

They also order milkshakes. Knowing that there are no Kalteneckers in this system, Keith wisely chooses not to ask where the milk has come from.

“So,” Keith says after he’s devoured his first burger and started on his second. “How _is_ Pidge?”

Matt smiles, and Keith’s stomach somersaults. How has he never realised just how attractive Matt is?

“She’s Pidge,” Matt says with a shrug. “She’s working on developing AI that can pilot pods for deep space missions and take samples after landing. Right now her biggest roadblock is integrating Altean technology with Earth technology.” He puts on a high-pitched voice. “’How can I use Altean technology when it’s practically magic and barely qualifies as science?’ You know. That sort of thing.”

Keith snorts. “That’s a terrible impression.”

“My impressions are excellent,” Matt says around mouthful of burger.

“It does sound like something she’d say,” Keith concedes. “What about you? What are you doing all the way out here?”

Matt swallows with some difficulty. “Exploration mission. Trace levels of radiation suggest there might be some Balmera crystals just below the planet’s crust. I’m here to take samples and report back.”

“Oh cool. I forgot you were a exogeologist before—” Matt freezes, his eyes widening. Keith realises his mistake a touch too late. “Back at the Garrison,” he amends quickly. “That was your thing, huh?”

Matt releases a shaky breath, the sudden tension dissipating. “Yeah. That’s the whole reason I was signed on for the Kerberos mission. Plenty of people said it was nepotism because my dad was heading the mission, but I really was top of my class.”

“Well I never paid attention to rumours,” Keith parrots.

Matt smiles, suddenly bashful, and Keith’s stomach does that strange thing again. “How about you?” Matt asks, nudging Keith under the table. “What brings you out to the distant reaches of the galaxy?”

Keith’s heart jumps in his throat. There’s no way to evade this question without it sounding like he doesn’t trust Matt. Keith doesn’t _not_ trust him, of course. It’s just that Matt is little more than a stranger to him, and it’s been a long time since he’s opened up to anyone outside of the Blade.

“Uh,” Keith stammers. Matt stares at him expectantly. “The thing—the thing with the Blade is that—”

“It’s cool,” Matt says quickly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s just that—”

“Keith.” Matt’s hand finds Keith’s where it’s resting on the table. He gives it a gentle squeeze. “I know your work is classified. I wouldn’t ever ask you to share more than what you’re comfortable with.”

“It’s not classified, it’s just—”

“Keith, look at me.” Keith’s eyes snap back to Matt’s. Matt’s face softens. “Really, I promise you. It’s fine.”

Keith gives him weak smile, then distracts himself with the straw of his milkshake. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

An uncomfortable silence unfolds. Keith can’t quite meet Matt’s eyes, and it’s a struggle not to fidget under his scrutiny. Finally, it’s Matt who breaks the silence.

“You know what I’ve been thinking?”

“Mmm?” Keith hums around a mouthful of milkshake.

“I’ve been thinking we should head out the back to the bathrooms, and you should let me blow you.”

Keith damn-near chokes on his drink.

(Matt does end up blowing Keith in the restaurant’s dingy bathroom. Matt gets down on his knees on the grimy floor and sucks Keith down like he’s trying to choke himself on his cock. Keith stifles all the desperate sounds he wishes he could make by biting down on his own hand, and maintains an iron grip in Matt’s hair with the other. Keith comes way too quickly, and when he’s done Matt’s face is covered in spit and come and he looks absolutely _ruined_ , and Keith privately thinks that he’s never looked better.)

*

Keith is just on the point of nodding off when he’s roused by Matt’s voice.

“What’s this?”

Keith jumps, startled. He’d been close to passing out in front of the TV while he was waiting for Matt to finish calling his parents. He takes a moment to reorient himself ( _hotel room. Ruthnia. Matt._ ) before scrambling to answer Matt’s question.

“Uh, Space Opera.”

“Oh man, I love these things,” Matt says, launching himself onto the bed next to Keith. He snatches the remote off the bedside table and turns the volume up to max. “What’s going on?” he loudly whispers a few seconds later.

“No idea,” Keith whispers equally loudly. A Ruthnian and an Arusian are arguing passionately with each other. Keith thinks there might be some debate over the parentage of the Arusian’s unborn child.

“How are your parents?” Keith asks after a pause.

“Good,” Matt says shortly. He’s started flicking through the channels, no doubt trying to settle on something a little bit more accessible. “Hey, do you ever watch _Garfle Warfle Snick_?”

“I _hate_ that show!”

“So does Pidge! She says she hates it although she—”

“—Can’t figure out why?”

“Yes!” says Matt, now sitting up. “She said she had a bizarre dream about the host and now she can’t stand him.”

“Weird,” Keith says, stifling a yawn. “I think I had the same dream but I barely remember it. And the harder I try, the more I forget.”

Matt’s looking at with Keith with something like fondness, and it takes Keith a moment to realise he’s been caught mid-yawn. “Sorry,” Keith says, covering his mouth hastily. “It’s been a long week.”

Matt’s eyes turn downcast. “You know, if you want me to go—”

“I don’t,” Keith says quickly, taking Matt’s hand in his. “I was just thinking—shower?”

Matt’s face breaks out to a grin. “Shower,” he agrees, nodding.

The shower isn’t really big enough for two, but Keith just uses that as an excuse to press his body against Matt’s and loop is arms around his waist. In the harsh light of the bathroom, Matt’s scars stand out starker than ever. Keith doesn’t ask, and Matt doesn’t tell. None of them came away from the war unscathed; it’s a fact that Keith’s reminded of every time he looks in the mirror. In lieu of asking, Keith presses his lips to the scar on Matt’s shoulder, feels the way his muscles go taut and then relax as Keith runs his tongue over the scar tissue.

Keith catalogues all of Matt’s scars, putting his mouth to them, feeling Matt sigh with every touch. By the time Keith’s done, Matt is hard, his dick curving up to his stomach. His eyes slide shut when Keith finally gets a soapy hand around him, his head falling back onto Keith’s shoulder, and something about it feels so natural, as if they’ve done this a hundred times before.

After the shower, Matt doesn’t wait until they’ve towelled off. He just pushes Keith onto the bed, rearranging him so he’s on his knees with his face pressed into the pillow. Matt spreads him open and eats him out until Keith is a writhing mess, the pillow doing little to stifle all the embarrassing sounds he’s making. And even as Matt’s fingering him open, even as Matt’s pressing into him, all Keith can think is that when the dawn finally comes, all of this will end.

It’s not until they’ve turned out the lights and they’re pressed together under the covers that Keith finally finds the words coming unstuck.

“I’m here on a security mission,” he confesses, unprompted.

Matt’s breathing, slow and deep and even, catches for a second, and Keith knows he’s still awake.

Keith continues before he loses his nerve. “There was an assassination attempt made on an Olkari diplomat. The Olkari leaders have been visiting to advocate a new Olkarion colony on Ruthnia’s moon. But Olkari and Ruthnians have been at odds since before the rise of the Empire, and not everyone agrees with the Ruthnian president’s stance on the new colony. The Blade of Marmora have offered protection to the Olkari diplomats and have agreed to be present at the negotiations. That’s it. That’s my top secret mission.”

Matt’s quiet for so long, Keith thinks he isn’t going to respond at all. But then he wordlessly shifts in Keith’s arms, turning on his side so they’re face to face, peering at each other through the darkness.

“Keith,” Matt says slowly, and Keith’s stomach drops. “Why does your life sound like the plot of an action film?”

Keith snorts, pulling Matt closer.

“Sometimes I can’t believe this is my life. I never dreamed—”

He trails off, but Matt knows. Of course he does.

“None of us ever dreamed of this,” Matt says, tucking a strand of hair behind Keith’s ear. It’s a gesture that’s so tender, so familiar, that it makes Keith’s heart ache. “You don’t have to tell me about your top secret missions, you know.”

“That’s the thing, though. It wasn’t top secret. I’m just—” Keith falters. He’s grateful that Matt can’t see his face, because it makes what he’s about to say a little easier. “I’m just not the best at opening up to people.”

Matt’s silent for a long moment as Keith tries to read his expression through the darkness. Finally he says, “I don’t think you have to worry about that too much with me.”

Keith’s heart stutters. “No?”

“Nah,” Matt says, pressing a kiss to Keith’s temple. “I talk enough for the both of us.”

*

The dawn does come, though. Eventually.

Keith wakes to the feeling of a body shifting next to him, and suddenly there’s nothing but the absence of warmth, just an empty space where Matt used to be. Keith dozes, drifting in and out of consciousness as Matt putters around the room, and when he opens his eyes it’s to see Matt emerging from the bathroom, fully dressed.

“Morning,” Matt says with a smile. His voice sounds rough and scratchy, and Keith’s hit with the memory of Matt all but choking himself on Keith’s cock. The resultant guilt isn’t quite enough to deter his morning wood from twitching at the memory.

“Morning,” Keith says, drawing the covers more tightly around himself.

“So uh, I’ve gotta get going. Early call this morning, and I still have to swing by my place to pick up my equipment.”

Keith’s mouth is suddenly very dry. “Sure,” he says. “It’s been—I had fun.”

Matt seems suddenly nervous, hovering awkwardly, but when he smiles it’s unmistakably genuine. “Yeah, me too. Good luck with your mission,” he says with a small salute. 

Matt heads for the door, and Keith’s heart rises in his throat. Before he can think better of it, he calls out, “Matt.” When Matt turns, his expression is utterly indecipherable, and some of Keith’s bravery is quelled instantly.

“Uh,” Keith flounders. “I know we didn’t discuss this, but—”

“I’m here for two more months,” Matt says quickly.

Keith’s face breaks into a smile as warmth expands in his chest. Matt’s face mirrors his, and for a long moment they stay like that, grinning stupidly at each other.

“That’s great,” Keith says. “So I guess I’ll be seeing you?”

“Yeah,” Matt says with a wink, stepping out the door. “I guess you will.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
